you'll always fake a friendly smile
by laurylrose
Summary: - she's a secret that eats you from the inside out. - rilaya, 2 parts, both maya and riley think the other doesn't feel the same way.
1. maya

You've never felt love until you dream about her hands in your hair and your nails digging into her hips, just above the waistband of her tennis skirt, and after that, you want nothing more than to kiss her until your mouth tastes like the sweet honey and peanut butter Riley packs on special occasions for lunch. She's a secret that eats you from the inside out, and you know that it's love and not just lust when you see her looking at Lucas like he's a god and your throat begins to swell.

You've never wanted to hold her hand more than when you two are late to catch the subway, and the busy New York street and everyone in it threatens to pull you apart. People pass so quickly and every time you pass a teenage boy, you're reminded of Lucas and your hand clutches on hers a little bit tighter. Skin as smooth and soft as satin turns into your favorite texture, and you find that when you take out your pencil to draw you can only sketch half-moon nails flecked with bits of chipping nail polish; that light aqua that soon becomes the only color you dream of her in.

You've never hurt as badly as the way you do when she calls you at eight o'clock to tell you that Lucas has invited her to have dinner with his family the next night. You're glad that she talks so much and you're not there in person because when you open your mouth to reply your eyes are burning with what feels like salt and you think you might faint if she says another word. But you're supposed to be happy for her, and to keep up this painful charade of you just being her best friend; you have to say what Maya Hart two years ago would say. So it's between clenched teeth that you get out, "You have to tell me all about it afterwards." You hang up the phone and dig your nails into your palm, hard.

You've never known the urge to kiss someone as much as you have when you're sitting with her in the bay window, her face lit up as she rambles on about the way Lucas smells, and you're not listening simply because you can't let yourself listen to that; it might actually kill you. Instead you stare at the shape of her lips and wonder what would happen if your hands were to wrap around her heart-shaped face right now. To assume she's straight would be wrong, but to assume she might see you in the same way you see her is going too far. Your mouth tastes bitter as you think that Riley's love of Lucas seems so wrong, so forced, and that you could make her happier than he ever could. Your heart stings as she tells you that if she could've just stayed a _little_ longer after thanking his parents for dinner, then maybe he would've leaned into kiss her. You swear you taste honey on your lips when she tells you how glad she is to have you be here for her, always.

You've never felt as empty as you do when she texts you to come over right now because something happened, and you arrive there three minutes later, dizzy with worry for her. Riley hugs you so tightly you can feel the wall around your heart shattering for her each time you breathe in. You almost let three words **i love you** slip out but then Riley pulls away to tell you that Lucas and her are _a thing_ , and what thing you don't want to know but this is worse than the phone call. This time you're there to see how starlit her face is and how her eyes are glazed over with love, and you hate yourself for being so miserable over her happiness. Outside, Maya Hart smiles so wide her face might split and tells Riley how excited she is for her. Inside, you feel your chest falling to pieces and whisper underneath your breath that if this boy breaks your girl's heart like she broke yours, you will end him.

You've never needed as much help as you do when your mother laughs with muted atrociousness dripping over the creases of her mouth and tells you, "Your dad has a new _boyfriend_." The two simple words combined on her lips sounds like the feeling of a sharp blade against your lungs and you know better than to ask her why that's a bad thing. Instead, you force your lips upward into a smile and drink water instead of answering. You know that if you stay with your mother, who has cruel sympathy shooting out of her eyes, any longer than the water in your stomach will harden into ice. So you go back to your room and take out the paintbrush but all you can do is stare at the blank canvas and beg yourself to feel emotions for boyscelebritiesLucas _anyone_ who will make you feel and appear normal. But there's no one who's touch would make your skin burn with desire the way Riley's does, and so you get up and stare, shivering, at yourself in the mirror, realizing for the first time with a pang of disgust why you look so goddamn much like your father.


	2. riley

You'll always fake a friendly smile when her hand brushes against yours, but, God, you think you might fall apart if she encases you in her arms again. She reminds you so much of the baby bird you rescued when you were seven; small and frail, abandoned by its parents and so scrawny its feathers hung off its frame. You tell yourself you need to save this golden girl whose eyes light up when she sees you and whose hair smells like strawberry shampoo. You tell yourself the reason she paints with such intensity is because she's painting new universes for you two to exist in together, but when you look up at the moon at night you count the stars to remind yourself that the chance you've seen all the stars in the world is as small as the chance that Maya Hart loves you back.

(Sometimes you stay awake to stare at the night sky for hours when it's clear, walking around the block to get a better view. You've lost count a while ago of how many stars you've seen.)

It's so hard to be in love with someone like Maya, because every waking moment you and her exist in the same galaxy you find your mind wandering to things it shouldn't. Like how you're both fifteen now and if Maya liked you back, people might take your relationship, if you were to be open about it, more seriously. Like how you crave her lips beneath your teeth, like how you want you two to be together just so you can wake up one morning when everything is perfect and forget that the love of your life is sleeping next to you, and to have that warmth you feel everyday for her rush through you when you realize you're with her. You want to pull on her hair and bite her neck and do stupid, annoying Riley things she'd expect out of you because you love her, and she knows that. But… she doesn't know _that._

There's not a chance she does, there's not a chance in the world; she would've said something by now if she liked you like that. Because all you talk about is _him_ and all she does is sit there and take it in, her hands tucked into her pockets and her smiling far too wide for her to actually dislike the fact that you're infatuated with him. You were the one who started out disliking Lucas, just pretending to see the world in his eyes, and you did that to see the reaction from your best friend. But time went on and Maya didn't object when you gushed over him, not at all, (and you convince yourself it's not like you wanted her to anyway) so the idea of him became more and more appealing until you wanted to like everything about him. You wanted to like it when Lucas Friar, sweet-talking country boy with dimples like black holes sucking you in, flirted with you. Maya jokes about him, sure, but the jokes don't feel like they're coming from the same place that the envy that swallowed you whole did when her eyes settled on Uncle Josh. The jokes feel lighter than that jealousy, they feel friendly, and teasing… just like a best friend would.

There may not be a chance (and you want to accept that) but sometimes you pretend there is, sometimes you live in one of _those_ days. Those days are when, in your mind, you two are together and you take every gesture Maya makes and exaggerate it to something a lover would do. When she reaches for your hand, you take it and somehow it feels more intimate. When you lean in to hug her, you pretend that her mouth is intentionally hovering against your neck, her breath warm and cinnamon-gum and sliding down your shirt. When you tell her, "I love you", to you there's more meaning in those words than _justfriends_. You're scared that sometimes she knows when you're doing this; it's pretty obvious because on _those_ days you call her by pet names a lot more. You call her peaches and honey and angel, but you make sure never to say it in a serious situation. You'll throw it in casually, half-hoping she'll notice and you'll run away together the very next minute, half-hoping you can continue living in this hell because if she knows she'll look at you like you're _one of those people_ , and the worst part is she'll have every right to.

So you savor every moment that she's touching you, you savor every moment she's even talking to you. Her voice is your favorite sound and it always has been, but now there's something different about her words. They seem to mean so much more to you, and so you take each individual one that she speaks and stretch it out so that it can run for miles and miles more in your brain before you fall asleep each night. You take sentences that mean nothing to her and the world to you out of context and replay them in your mind constantly, and when they're over you can almost swear you see her ocean-light eyes staring at you from underneath her long lashes. In those moments before you drift off into dreams of _her hands your waist her lips your face_ you imagine that she speaks every word you want to hear but don't with her eyes, and you tell yourself this is as close as you'll come. That it's closer than when the New York sky glows faintly outside your window and you and her are in bed together next to each other with your dreams almost playing out in front of your heavy eyes.

Who needs those damn stars anyway when Maya Hart's breath hums against your skin late at night when she's fallen asleep before you have, and you push yourself every time her eyelids move to dreams (not of you) to get out and look at the sky. Maybe, you think to yourself as you sneak a glance back and see her, entangled in your sheets, all limbs and blonde curls and eyes that are still as pretty when closed, just maybe the night sky rotates every now and then so you've seen more stars than you think.


End file.
